


show me how you want it to be

by daydoodles



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, I don't know what the fuck to tag I'm sorry, Implied Relationships, M/M, Online Friendship, Paparazzi, Publicity, Social Media, Twitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 14:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6960982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydoodles/pseuds/daydoodles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a tweet, which shouldn't amount to much but somehow it becomes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	show me how you want it to be

**Author's Note:**

> LISTEN I NEEDED MORE PATATER ANYWAY but then it got worse because I saw [this](http://foxtrotdefencesquad.tumblr.com/post/144810930025/patater-meeting-ideas) post and I was dying at all of them. So I wrote one? Ship this with me please.
> 
> You may recognise the title and it's because I've been listening to [this](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=OY93Vwm19zI) on repeat lately honestly slay me.

So, here's the thing: Kent really didn't mean for it to end up this way.

Sure, he knew it was a possibility the first time he tweeted in response to a conversation Jack and Tater were having; but how could he resist? It's not like Jack tweets often, and it's not Kent’s fault that Tater just happened to be in on the conversation either. He refuses to take the blame for this one, despite how easy it would be to say it's his fault. But it isn't.

It also isn't his fault that he and Tater start tweeting back and forth some time after that; once again, Jack is never online, so who else is Kent going to antagonise? He can only harass his own teammates so much, and they put up with his shit in person, no less. Kent probably doesn't deserve to be friends (virtual or otherwise) with Tater anyway, but he'll take what he can get. He isn't picky. Well, he is, but not when it comes to embarrassing people on Twitter.

It starts off pretty tame; the first tweet he sends Tater is a passive-aggressive warning to be on his A-game when the Falconers play the Aces in a week. Tater, seeing as English is his second language, has no idea what Kent’s even saying. His response pretty much amounts to: “What is A game? Is there B game?”

And Kent may be an asshole, but he won't leave the guy hanging. So he tweets him back, and says no, it's just a figure of speech. Somehow Tater takes that as an invitation to ask Kent any and all English-related questions he has, ever.

[May 6, 17:26] @RussianPotato: Kenny, what is back seat driver? How you drive car from back seat?? @TheRealParse

[May 6, 17:43] @TheRealParse: @RussianPotato no tater, that's just an expression. it means ur bossing somebody around while they're trying to drive

[May 17, 12:03] @RussianPotato: Kenny, who is Flynn? @TheRealParse

[May 17, 12:16] @TheRealParse: @RussianPotato what???

[May 17, 12:28] @RussianPotato: You know they say “in like Flynn” but who is this Flynn? Where he come from? What he’s in?? @TheRealParse

[May 17, 12:39] @TheRealParse: @RussianPotato tater flynn isn't a person they just say that bc it rhymes

[June 5, 13:47] @RussianPotato: Kenny, why someone would talk to hand?? @TheRealParse

[June 5, 14:01] @TheRealParse: @RussianPotato if u mean when ppl say “talk to the hand” that doesn't mean u literally talk to someone’s hand. it means they don't want to listen to u

[June 18, 10:59] @RussianPotato: Kenny why you go to post office when you are mad?? @TheRealParse

[June 18, 11:12] @TheRealParse: @RussianPotato u don't tater u go postal, like freak out

And so it goes. Eventually Tater’s tweeting him nearly every other day, and not just for English advice. He particularly loves replying to every photo of Kit Purson that Kent posts to his Twitter feed, and reiterating endlessly how much he loves “Kenny’s goblin pet.” (And yeah, Kent may be a little salty that he compared Kit to a goblin, but she is hairless and fat, so maybe it's not that much of a stretch.)

He’s also less than okay with Tater’s insistence on calling him “Kenny”; he knows it's only because that's what Jack has always called him, so Tater was bound to pick it up, but it flusters Kent more than he’d like to admit. He won't say anything about it, obviously, but he'll also violently deny the blush on his face any time he comes across Tater’s tweets in his mentions. He's in denial, really. It's getting out of hand.

And it doesn't get better when the fans start to follow their Twitter conversations, either. Actually, it gets worse, because nearly every day Kent finds more DMs wondering “When will you ask Tater out?” or declaring “I ship Patater so hard!!” And honestly, when did they even get their own ship name? Kent thinks it's cute, yeah, but that's not the point. The fans are delusional.

But the fans - and the Twitter banter - is free publicity, so one day Kent gets a call he kind of wishes he hadn't answered. It's his publicist, Amy, and he's never thrilled to talk to her, but as soon as he hears the name “Alexei Mashkov” leave her mouth he's done.

“Listen, Ames, I love you and all, but I can't hang out with Tater.”

“Why not?” she scoffs from the other end of the line. “You don't even have to actually hang out. Just go for lunch or something, go for a run, go shopping, I don't care. As long as you tweet a selfie and let at least a few paps get a shot then I'm happy.”

“So basically you want me to pretend to hang out with Tater.”

“Basically.” Kent can hear the smirk in her voice, and he rolls his eyes despite the fact she can't see him do it. “I've already talked to the Falconers’ PR team, they're down for it if you give them a date.”

Kent sighs, dejected, and tells her any time next week is fine.

-

It's the off-season, so Kent actually has a decent amount of free time. He's still busy, and still practices constantly, but at least he isn't travelling all over the damn country every other day. Unfortunately that gives Tater an opportunity to visit, which he does.

The PR teams had coordinated for this; in the end, they'd decided Tater would stay for a couple days. Their reasoning was that there’s really no reason he shouldn't, which is weak if you ask Kent, but he didn't have any viable excuse to get out of it. So that's how he finds himself standing at the Arrivals gate of McCarran, absentmindedly tapping his index finger against his denim-clad thigh. He's nervous, but he isn't sure why, and maybe he doesn't want to know.

Then he hears a booming “Kenny!” and before he can so much as turn his head he's being crushed in the most excited bear hug he's ever received.

“Hey, Tater,” he mumbles as he tries to hug back, but he can't move his arms far enough. Tater’s spinning now, like they're in some goddamn romcom, and Kent kind of wants to die as he hears the familiar clicking of paparazzi cameras.

“Hey Kenny! You are good?” Tater finally puts him down (actually, when had he even picked Kent up?) and takes a step back to have a normal conversation. Or as normal as anything can be with Tater, anyway.

“Yeah, I'm good. How was your flight?”

“It’s fun! It was bumpy, and I hold on to little old lady next to me for keep her safe.” He's beaming, like he saved this woman’s life or something. It's infuriatingly adorable.

“Wow, sounds like you had a wild ride.” Kent shakes his head, walking off toward the door where his car is waiting. Tater follows, still babbling.

“I can't wait to see Kit! She is so good, I am loving her.”

“She's a good cat, but she doesn't know you yet. Be careful, okay? Don't just pick her up the second you see her or she’ll be pissed.” Kent asks the driver to pop the trunk, and they load Tater’s bag before climbing in.

“Where we going?” Tater asks, all child-like enthusiasm and an annoyingly cute accent. Kent just blinks at him.

“We’re gonna go to my apartment first to drop your stuff off, then we can get lunch if you want?” Kent cocks an eyebrow.

“Sound like plan!” Tater’s smile gets even bigger, if that's possible. Kent fears for his facial muscles.

-

Lunch goes well, or better than Kent expected at least. That's not saying a whole lot, considering he’d set the bar intentionally low, but he still recognises that their little publicity stunt is running as smoothly as possible. Tater’s surprisingly easy to talk to, and Kent’s used to the paparazzi so they don't bother him much. Tater also insists on taking a selfie, so they do; all smiles and peace signs and backwards snapbacks as they lean across the table over their steaks.

Kent ends up tweeting it, and his Twitter mentions instantly skyrocket. After the seventh “Are you two on a date?!” he sees, he shuts his phone down and leaves it off till he gets home that night.

Which, as it turns out, finds Tater in his living room. Kent’s not entirely positive whose idea it was that Tater couldn't stay in a hotel room, or maybe he’d been meant to and Kent had invited him over; he can't really remember because they've had a few too many drinks by this point. (Which also isn't Kent’s fault, because how could he invite Tater to Vegas and not take him to a casino? Honestly.)

So they sit in Kent’s living room, Kit curled up in Tater’s lap like the heat leech she is, and Tater’s scratching gently behind her ears and Kent can hear her soft purring from where he sits on the other side of the couch. They're not close, per se, but it's enough proximity to drive Kent wild, and he's nervously jiggling his leg against the hardwood floor.

Tater puts a hand on his knee to stop the movement. “You are worried, Kenny?”

Kent’s eyes snap up to Tater’s face, and he shakes his head halfheartedly. “Nah man, I'm good. Just got too much energy.” Kent’s always been a fidgety drunk, for whatever reason.

“Want to do something to get rid of energy?” Tater makes it sound so innocent, probably because it is, to him.

Kent stares at him for a second. “Uhm. Sure, but what?”

“We skate!”

So that's how they end up at Sobe Ice Rink, at nearly midnight, lacing up their skates to do god knows what. Kent has the vague thought that maybe strapping literal knives to your feet while you're drunk off your ass may not be the smartest thing in the world, but that's never stopped him before. Really, it's the norm for him to be doing stupid shit, and apparently having Tater with him doesn't change that. He isn't sure how to feel about this revelation.

But Tater’s all smiles as he steps out onto the ice, and Kent follows him because how could he not? Tater’s face is flushed from alcohol, and he's giggling about nothing, and he's so beautiful Kent kind of wants to lay facedown on the floor and cry. He always kind of wants to do that when he's been drinking, but Tater makes the urge worse. Laying with his face pressed to ice probably wouldn't be all that comfortable though, so he just trails behind Tater as he skates lazy figure eights across the rink.

At some point Kent’s competitive streak kicks in, so he challenges Tater to a race. He accepts with an enthusiastic “I kick your ass, Kenny!” and they line up on the far side of the ice after deciding one lap is good enough. They don't want to push their luck too much.

So Kent counts down, and Tater yells “go!” and then they push off from the wall much slower than they normally skate, but they're not quite coherent so it feels like they're flying. And they manage to stay level with each other, neither really pulling ahead, till Tater takes advantage of his gloriously long legs and takes the lead. He ultimately wins, but Kent doesn't even notice they've skated a complete lap, and he runs full speed into Tater’s broad back, face colliding with his shoulderblades. They fall to a heap on the ice, practically crying from laughter just because the whole situation is so ridiculous. Plus, the alcohol.

But then it registers that Kent is honest to god laying on top of Tater, and he hadn't meant to do it but now that it's happened Kent’s face is heating up several degrees as he scampers to his feet. Tater doesn't seem to get it, or if he does, he isn't fazed. Kent isn't sure which one he’d prefer.

They circle the rink a few more times, and eventually they're sleepy and their bodies are tired so they decide to call it a night. They head back to Kent’s apartment, and if their hands brush as they walk side by side, neither one mentions it.

-

The next morning is hell, because they're both hungover and somehow Tater ended up passing out on Kent’s bedroom floor with Kit laying on his face, and Kent’s on his bed but he's upside down and nearly strangled by the sheets. The only reason they wake up as early as they do is because Tater’s phone won't fucking shut up.

“ _Tater_ ,” Kent whines, “make it stop.” He rubs viciously at his temples, groaning.

“I answer, hold on.” Tater pats around the floor till his hand makes contact with his cell, and he lazily unlocks it before putting it to his ear. “Hello?”

There's some muffled talking, and Tater makes a few varied sounds of acknowledgement before hanging up again. Kent can't help but ask, “Who the hell is calling you this early in the morning?”

“Georgia.”

“Who is that, your girlfriend?”

Tater huffs and furrows his brow. “I not have girlfriend. Georgia is manager.”

“Oh. What did she want?”

“She say we need to go out. And make video for Twitter.”

Kent groans again, because the last thing he wants to do is to be featured on a Meet The Falconers video.

-

But of course, Kent is weak to Tater’s effortless charm (and also a fan of free publicity), so he sucks it up and attempts to make himself look presentable for the camera. He does a halfway decent job, but his morning routine mostly consists of throwing on a hat and brushing the taste of last night’s cocktails out of his mouth.

So Tater unpacks a GoPro, and says that they're going to take a tour of Las Vegas for the video. Kent shrugs and leads the way out the door.

They make all the usual tourist stops; everything from the strip and the Bellagio to the Stratosphere and Red Rock Canyon. For lunch they eat at this amazing cafe that's just called Eat, and Tater thinks it's so cute he films a tour of the whole place. After that they stop by the Mob Museum simply for the fact it's somewhere Kent’s never been, and then Tater says they should film a little back at Kent’s apartment.

Tater holds the camera an arm’s length away, smiling at the lens as he throws an arm over Kent’s shoulders. “Kenny bring me to his apartment! It is very nice, his cat is favourite.” He turns the camera briefly toward Kit, then back to them. “What you say, Kenny?” He smiles down at Kent, and Kent feels his chest tighten in a way it hasn't in years. He ignores it.

“It's been awesome having you here, Tater.” He's looking up at Tater now, a little lost in his big brown eyes, and slips a hand around Tater’s waist. “Seriously, you should come visit more often.”

Tater smiles bigger at him, nodding. “I come back, do not worry.” And he pulls Kent in for another crushing hug. Kent hugs him back this time.

They order pizza for dinner, since their adventures from the day wore them out, and Kent watches the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy while Tater edits the video to post on Twitter. He's done with it surprisingly fast, and when Kent asks him he says that's why he’s usually in charge of the Meet The Falconers videos; everyone else on the team is about as good with technology as his Babushka Lidiya, who's ninety-seven and practically blind, not to mention her arthritis. Kent laughs at that, but if the rest of the team is anything like Jack then Tater’s probably not wrong.

Tater tweets the video a while later, and mentions him in it, but Kent doesn't want to look at his phone since he knows he’d be drowning in Twitter notifications. So they turn on shitty late-night TV, and fall asleep on the couch with Kit sprawled out across their laps.

-

Kent refuses to admit he's sad to see Tater go. He will not, under any circumstances, ever tell a soul that this publicity stunt has gone horribly wrong. Or horribly right, since it’s been good for both of their teams, but Kent’s not concerned with that at the moment; he's more focused on the aching in his chest and the fists clenched at his sides as he watches Tater’s back recede into the airport than the size of the Aces’ fanbase.

It's only been two days, but Kent’s been the happiest he's felt in a long time for those two days of having Tater around. He isn't sure what to make of it, really; it's too soon to give it a name, but he can guess where it's headed and he dreads it already. He's not in the closet by any means (he's been caught making out with more boys than he'd like to count), but Tater’s more private than Kent could ever be. Kent doubts Tater would be interested in telling him even if he was gay. Or bi. Or whatever.

That's what he thinks as he turns on his heels, letting his hands go limp as he forces the tension from his body. It's fine, Tater will go back to Providence and maybe tweet him every few days and that will be enough and it's fine. Except it's not really, because Kent didn't even get Tater’s phone number and honestly when was the last time he cared so much? Maybe he never has.

Kent’s reminded of one other time he cared; one other time he was too nervous to really do anything about his feelings. That's why he gravitates toward casual relationships, with people he doesn't really care for; if he loses them, it doesn't hurt. Because the last time he let himself get attached, it ended with an unhealthy relationship and an overdose and a gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be. Or maybe it's still there, it's just barely beating.

But Tater helped him forget that; and no one will make it go away, nothing can. Kent doesn't want to fuck this up like he did the other time, so he runs. But this time, he doesn't run away from what he fears; he runs headfirst in the direction of what he wants. Which, at this moment, happens to be a large Russian man in line to board a Boeing 747.

He can't get past security without a ticket, despite his celebrity status, so he settles for yelling Tater’s name as loud as he physically can for lack of a better idea. He isn't in the best mental state anyway, and he's frantic because he sees Tater only two steps away from crossing the threshold and then he'll have lost his chance, and Kent wants anything but that. Even rejection is better than that.

So he does what he really shouldn't do, like he always does, and pushes past security to sprint toward the gate, hollering Tater’s name the whole way. People are staring at him and yelling insults and he can hear the footsteps of the security guards that are chasing him, but he doesn't care. Actually he's laughing, because Tater finally hears him right as he's handing over his ticket, and he turns around and opens his arms with a heart melting smile and Kent jumps. And for once, the other person catches him.

And for once, Kent doesn't care what anyone’s saying around him. For once, he just lets himself melt into the strong arms of the man that's holding him and leans in without hesitation. And for once, he gets genuinely kissed back.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. I know running through an airport screaming and then literally jumping into your crush's arms and kissing them after physically being with each other for only a couple days is Dramatic and Extra, but Kent Parson is nothing if not Dramatic and Extra so he would do it. He so would.
> 
> (Come scream about Patater [with me](http://irlkent.tumblr.com).)


End file.
